Paris
by OurGloryDays
Summary: Standing out on the balcony of their Paris hotel room, Sweden finally makes the decision to let his feelings be known for Finland.


Finland sat out on the balcony of his hotel room in Paris, aimlessly holding an empty cup of tea in his hands and watching as the city of lights glimmered, its people happily moving and bustling, singing happy tunes and enjoying the nightlife. He was in a trance of thought, something that couldn't even be broken by Norway's intrusion out back, asking if he wanted to go out for food.

Finland merely sat. Quiet.

_Another world meeting, another major city, another day, and yet nobody can get another dollar. _

_This recession has been bad, the stock market and housing market have crashed – globally. The rising interest rates, the foreclosures, the ever-increasing unemployment percentage. When will it all end?_

Finland was about to rip his hair out of his head as he contemplated ways to revitalize his economy. From better social welfare to tax breaks, nothing can seem to stop the madness that rages through out the globe.

So here they are, yet again. The souls, the backbone, the personifications of every single country on the planet Earth, here to find a way to reverse, or at least pause this never-ending cycle of hurt and loss for their people.

This time it was France's turn to hold the meeting, and, due to the recession, it had been mutually agreed upon by _(most)_ nations that they share rooms. Keeping costs down was a major point of France's argument, and he had obviously intended to implement it. So, by means that were entirely out of his hands, Finland was left sharing a room with Denmark, Norway, and Sweden.

Sighing, Finland stood and walked into the (more-cramped-than-usual) hotel room and placed his mug in the sink. He now regretted not going out to dinner and wondered if it might be too late to call and ask where the trio went. He patted down his pant pockets before remembering that he left his cell phone charging in the bathroom when he took a shower.

Rounding the corner to the in-room bath (at least France had been generous enough to pick a suite-like hotel room) he mindlessly opened the bathroom door, without knocking, completely unaware that a certain Swede had just completed his shower. Luckily, Sweden had already wrapped a towel around his waist.

The hot steam from the bath escaped from its once-closed quarters, only escalating Finland's rising internal temperature.

"Ooh, heeeey, Sweden… I thought you had gone out with the others?" Finland cleared his throat, trying desperately to not think about how attractive his former-housemate looked, all hot, and wet… and hot.

"I figured ya migh' like some company. Ya seemed really upse' earlier." Sweden replied, standing stiff and trying to direct his glare to any other item in the room. Was it just him, or did it seem like Finland was… blushing?

Sweden took a step forward, in an attempt to break the silence, to get away, to pretend like looking at Finland didn't bring up old, still very tender, and never confessed emotions. He made his way to his suitcase and pulled out his pajamas, looked back at Finland, and decided against it.

"Do ya wan' ta go out? We can stay in, too, if ya'd like." Sweden sincerely hoped that Finland would choose the latter, that he would choose to stay, in this cozy, warm hotel room, alone, with him.

"Would you mind if we stayed in?" Finland asked, almost sheepishly. Mentally, Sweden felt a wave of relief pass through him, who knows? Maybe Paris really is the city of love?

"Ja, ya wan' ta wa'ch a movie, or somethin'?" Sweden attempted, pulling his pajamas to his chest and stepping past an unmoving Finland in order to get back into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him, save for a tiny crack to hear what Finland had to say.

"A movie sounds nice, but…" Finland's voice trailed off as he walked away from the bathroom door, making it impossible for Sweden to hear what the Finn had just said.

"Wha' was tha'?" Sweden asked, walking out of the bathroom, tying the drawstring on his pants before turning in to the little kitchenette, find him warming up some water in the microwave.

"Want a cup of tea?" Finland asked, smiling up at Sweden, the pink returning to both of their cheeks.

…

Sweden was half listening to Finland talk about his woes. Every nation was faced with a burden and a debt right now, and sometimes they need to vent. It is totally normal.

But, what wasn't normal to Sweden was the cuteness that embodied Finland. The way his lips moved, and when forming certain sounds, they looked as if he were puckering up for Sweden to kiss him. Twice already he senselessly twitched forward, thinking maybe he could bring their lips together.

Another thing that was not normal was how perfectly the reflected city lights lit up his fair skin. The amorous thoughts rained into his head, tormenting him with every feeling and impulse that he had ever longed to receive or give to Finland.

And on, and on, they sat, Finland talking, like they used to talk when they lived together, and Sweden, picking up certain words, missing the majority of them, but mostly missing, longing, wanting the man right in front of him.

He swallowed, feeling that heavy ball that appears in your throat when you want to say something, but you just can't. You just can't say it because you know the other person doesn't return your feelings. So, Sweden sat, staring down at Finland until his words and complaints were no longer heard, and the only thing that Sweden wanted to hear were those three words, those three words that haunted his dreams and plagued his journal.

_I love you. _

Sweden couldn't even begin to recount the number of times he'd rehearsed in front of a mirror, written it in his journal, or even dreamed of just coming out and telling Finland how much he loved him.

He began thinking, what would it be like? To have Finland back home with him- if even just for a week. Slowly, Sweden began inventing ideas, subtle ways to show his feelings, because, as we all know, the man doesn't really have a way with words.

He decided he would want Finland to visit in the winter, so he would have an excuse to share a bed and to hold him close. Dear God, how Sweden missed holding Finland to his body, and having the man return his embrace. He also decided that he would have Peter and Hanatomago around to show Tino how capable the man was of supporting, protecting and providing for a family, to show that Sweden was an acceptable suitor. Maybe that last thought was a bit archaic, but such were the times they grew up in. Old sentiments die hard in practically immortal sentient beings, Sweden thought rather amusedly.

Sweden momentarily snapped out of his day dream as Finland stood, leaning over the side of the railing and looking a the people below.

"You know, Sweden, sometimes I just want to move back in with you." Finland confessed, turning to face the shocked Swede. Shocked, for two reasons. One, Finland had just confided a very personal thought to him, which he had not expected but had also been thinking the same thing. And two, because it was Finland had just spoken this, Finland, who had a powerful, independent country of his own, who had his own language, fought in several wars upon various and varied other tasks, had basically inadvertently told Sweden that he missed him. Thinking fast, Sweden cleared his throat, trying not to read too much into Finlands words, but desperately wanting to confide in Tino his own wishes and woes.

"Always welcome, Pe'er and Hana miss ya, Tino." Sweden stood, walking over to stand beside Finland, astonished at his own finesse with words. Internally he sighed, maybe… Maybe Finland was harboring feelings that matched his own?

"And what about you…" Finland moved closer to Sweden, the outsides of their arms touching, Finland looking up to Sweden with a tired glaze over his eyes, the dim yellow-gold reflection of the city amplifying the already stunning color of his eyes. Finland blinked, slowly, flirtatiously, "…do you miss me?"

Sweden thought; thought about saying every last thing on his mind, like, 'of course I miss you. Sometimes I dream that when I wake, you'll still be there, in my arms.' Or, (and this one was especially true for the Swede, as it pulled on his heart strings just thinking of it) 'when I have to send Sealand off to bed, I remember the nights you and I would stay up late and watch old black and white movies. I should have kissed you then. I was a fool for not kissing you then.' He, after much silent deliberation, and noticing how the Fin alongside of him was beginning to get antsy, had chosen his words.

"O'course I miss ya." He spoke, his voice slightly cracking at the beginning of his words, sure he wasn't saying everything, but he wasn't lying either. Looking out ahead of him, and not at the sweet Fin to his side, was the hardest thing to do, considering that they were in the city of love, and, he was here with the one he undeniably loved, but that lump in his throat just would not go away. He blushed, and the Fin placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, the way he used to do when he wanted Sweden's full attention.

"Hm." Sweden looked down at the Fin, and he knew just what Finland wanted. For once, it wasn't him that said too little, or nothing at all. It was Finlands turn to not need to speak, for Sweden already knew what he needed to hear. He cleared his throat, and looked down at him. Finlands eyes, heck, his whole face was downcast, his bangs shielding it from any glance the Swede might want to steal. Slowly Sweden gathered the courage to say the words that he'd wanted to say since they left Denmarks place hundreds of years ago

"Standin' here with ya so close is torture." Sweden looked out into the city, knowing full well that looking into Finlands eyes, looking at that adorable face would just cause him to choke up on his words. "Knowin' tha' I can't pull ya to me, n' hold ya close…" Sweden swallowed yet again, feeling that heavy ball in this throat completely disappear, and lightly balled his fists, "Makes me wonder wha' life woul' be like, had I tol' ya everythin', m'feelin's…" He trailed off, avoiding Finland's eyes, looking to the cheery and blissfully unaware Parisians laughing and smoking below them.

"H-how do," Finland finally found the courage to look up, his voice nothing louder than a whisper, he paused, "you feel?" His hand balled gently at the fabric over Swedens shoulder. He could feel the others muscles were tense, and, for a second when Sweden barely glanced at him, he swore that he saw Swedens face flash between its stern expression to one of worry, of doubt, of fear.

"I…" shyly, he glanced down at Finland, who was looking up at him, with the slightest gloss over his eyes. Sweden felt a cold shiver go up his spine, felt that quick, sudden pull and tightening in his heart, and he knew he had lost his internal battle. "…suck with m'words." He admitted, defeatedly. Bending down slightly and resting his elbows on the railing of their balcony, Sweden buried his face into his hands, not wanting to leave Finlands side, but also not wanting to been seen in such an embarrassing light.

"I can be patient." Finland reassured, bringing his body to lean up against Swedens, hoping to be surrounded in the warmth that was his arms. For a moment Finland wondered if Sweden would allow him into his embrace, for as soon as Finland leaned against Sweden, Finland felt the Swede tense again, and he swore he heard the man sigh slightly. "I promise I won't judge."

Sweden, now presented with a decision, decided to read into Finlands actions a bit, and straightening himself out a bit, he turned, leaning against the wall and pulling Finland into his embrace, careful to not pull the man too fervently for fear of making Finland feel like Sweden had been longing for this opportunity. Sweden decided, after a few repositions, that resting his hands comfortably at Finlands waist was ideal.

"Hm." Sweden began, feeling uncomfortable in his own shoes, as the only three words that could possibly make sense in this scenario were the ones that made his throat dry and his tongue swell. Looking up to the very few stars which managed to outshine the city's lights, Sweden said the next best thing, "Ah, around ya, can't focus on anythin' else but ya." He rolled his eyes in spite of himself, feeling absolutely pathetic. But what was he to do, really? With such an adorable, and clearly saddened man clinging to him, Sweden realized that Finland probably needed to be told some reassuring words from time to time.

" 'n, when I ca'ch ya lookin' m'way…" He sheepishly glanced down to the blond mop of slightly messy hair under his chin, silently hoping to catch Finlands eye, but also relieved to see that the man was looking down himself, "makes m'really happy…" Throwing caution to the wind, he decided to let it out, everything he'd wanted to say but just didn't have the courage to.

"Wish ya'd come 'n visit more. Wanna see ya, all tha time." Finland buried his face into Swedens chest, receiving a light tightening of the arms around him. Sweden, unable to conjure words, felt as if he had reached his daily word-limit, and wondered how much more Finland would silently wait to hear before realizing that the words that Sweden was busy telling him of were out of love, _amour_.

"Just…" Finland broke off, and for once, Sweden heard some hint of uncertainty lacing his words. "… Just, please, hold me close, and don't let go, okay?" Finland felt weak, beat and defeated, looking for false comfort in the arms of a man who once owned him. But, where a bitter joy should have been in his heart, there was nothing but butterflies. Everything that Sweden had said, it all sounded to Finland like something you would tell a person you liked before telling them so. Maybe, in resting his body against Swedens, Finland could find an excuse to work Sweden up to that confession. And if not, then Sweden probably didn't return Finlands feelings.

Slowly, timidly, and torn between certainty and doubt, Sweden pressed their foreheads together, "If I were ta hold ya closer…" Sweden paused, looking longingly into Finlands eyes. Never had he allowed himself to be so close to the Fin, never had he thought any man could look more dazzling than Finland did at this very moment. "…I don' know 'f I'd be able ta stop myself from kissin' ya…" He whispered, truthfully. It was now, or never, Sweden thought. Finally, he was going to take the initiative, and maybe a kiss, passionate and real, would explain to Finland everything he tried telling with his words but failed.

Sweden's words, nothing more than a whisper, tickled at Finland's lips. The Finn lifted his arms, taking a slow, sweet breath, before wrapping them behind Sweden's neck, and tilting his head to the side, brushing the tips of their noses together in the process.

Frozen, utterly frozen and immobile and glued to his spot, Sweden felt like the Tin Man and Finland was the grease for his joints, and the heart he was looking for. It made no sense to him, how the atmosphere between them suddenly became so tense. He had to struggle to breathe, feeling his will crumble and deteriorate beneath his feet. Maybe Finland was only doing this because he wanted solace from his thoughts for one night? No. No, Sweden thought, Finland was a man as well as a country, and he was sure there was no other man alive that possessed a more beautiful and pure-intentioned heart in the world that the Finn standing, leaning, against the Swede.

And so, Sweden, bringing both his hands off of Finlands waist, cupped the mans jaw, and slowly brought their lips together. The kiss, light, innocent, meaningful at first, soon grew more passionate. But really, what was one to expect, with the better half of 400 years of love and lust pent up into one overly clichéd kiss? And with a parting breath, the two looked into each others eyes, a reminder of who they were, and where they hoped this, whatever _this_ was, might go.

And with another glance, and a cheeky grin from the shorter man, their lips continued to collide, now more frantic and rushed than before, the initial fear, the initial worries gone, and all that was left behind was the love, the passion, the longing. And Sweden swears, it was the longing behind those kisses, behind those heart-stoppingly sexy, breathy moans and gasps of air that Finland would make, as Sweden turned them around, pressing the Fin between his body and the wall he had been previously leaning on. He kissed Finlands lips once more, before moving along down the Fin's jaw, till his lips met Finlands ear, with which he senselessly began nibbling on.

And Finland would swear, he didn't intend for their simple kiss to turn into such a passionate whatever-this-was and where-ever-this-was-going was also absolutely okay with him.

"Finally." Norway sighed, uncrossing his arms and pulling a slightly drunken and mostly oblivious Denmark into the attached bedroom, away from the scene on the patio.

…

"Ah, la ville de l'amour." France sighed, knowingly sipping on his glass of red wine.

* * *

If this seems familiar to anyone it's because I previously kinda submitted it to rosaskies on tumblr, but it seems she deleted her tumblr and that is okay lol. Um yeah, if it does seem familiar, but somehow different, then yes, you would be right again. I changed the ending and I like it much more lol. Uh, to any of my followers who might be reading this, next on my update list will probably be Ivory and Oak, seeing as how I'm just trying to finish up the chapter, and then followed by Body Language, hopefully by next weekend! :D Um, yes.

I do hope you liked the story by the way! :) Oh, yeah, hastily made translation is hasty and probably incorrect. What France says at the end is intended to mean "Ah, the city of love." and if any of you French men or women would be so kind as to verify or discredit this, that would be excellent!

Reviews are loved!

As always, xoxo, ourglorydays.


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